


Bane of the Doctor - Part 1: The Doctor, Taken

by RodimusDoctor



Series: Bane of the Doctor [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RodimusDoctor/pseuds/RodimusDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 10th Doctor awakens in a world he can't see, hear or feel. His only company is the voice of an unknown enemy, whose motives and intentions are unclear beyond one simple premise - he wants the Doctor broken. The Doctor endures torture both physical and psychological while he struggles to learn all he can about his captor and prison.</p><p>The Bane of the Doctor has begun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bane of the Doctor - Part 1: The Doctor, Taken

The Doctor awoke and took in his surroundings. There was not a lot to take in. The floor beneath him felt like metal, and there was no illumination. He had a sense of vastness; he imagined a large empty cargo hold of a starship. There were no tell-tale vibrations in the floor; if it was a ship, it wasn’t going anywhere.

He wasn’t wearing his usual clothes. Instead, the Doctor’s entire body was covered in some kind of synthetic material complete with gloves, boots, and mask. He touched his face, felt around his eyes, nose and mouth; the mask had no holes and completely surrounded his head.

“This,” he said, “is a bit of a problem.” He could barely hear his own voice, the mask was so tight. And his mouth hurt. And his head. His stomach as well.

He’d been beaten up.

Well.

He’d suffered all kinds of indignities over the last several hundred years, but an outright beating was something of a rarity. He usually managed to talk his way out of most altercations, and his enemies rarely made it further than the threat stage.

The Doctor tried to sit up, gasped, and fell back. He was in a lot more pain than he’d realized, and...

...there was something in his chest. He searched his trunk with his hands and found a tube at the pain’s epicenter. It went through the suit and punctured his body between the bottom two ribs on his left side.

It was hard to tell, but the Doctor felt certain it wasn’t a stab wound. This tube had been put in place deliberately. His fingers probed further – there seemed to be an opening in the tube’s end, which suggested hollowness...

“I wouldn’t play with that if I were you.”

The Doctor started; the voice was loud and severe, and cut through the silence like Absolom Dakk through a Dalek.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Why am I here? What have you done to me?”

“Incredible,” the voice said. “I’ve gone to some trouble to make you uncomfortable, Doctor. I’ve blocked your five senses, cut you off from the world, so to speak. And yet, you still pretend to be in control of the situation. I knew you would. I’m honestly curious to know if it is arrogance or merely a desperate bluff.”

“Why are you doing this?” the Doctor asked. “Got bored? Decided on a little fun? Are you one of those sad types who can’t get a date for Friday night?”

“I have deprived you of input,” the voice said, “so what makes you think I’ll just volunteer information?”

“Because you want me afraid,” the Doctor said, and with great effort he managed to sit up. “You want me to know exactly how deep into the pit I really am. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“What makes you think there’s a point?”

“You want something,” the Doctor winced in pain but managed to get a leg under him. “I’m only alive because you haven’t gotten it from me yet.”

“Is that so? You think you know me so well.”

“I’ve faced thousands like you,” the Doctor grunted and forced his legs to straighten, rising to stand in a defiant pose. “They all tried to get the best of me. They lost. I’m giving you a chance. Just one. Put me back where you took me from, and we’ll leave it at that.”

“I’m not going to give you any chance at all, Doctor,” the voice said.

A force slammed into the Doctor and threw him backward. Was it wind? A repulsor blast? Then he hit the floor with a jolt, and the questions were knocked out of him.

“Oh, well done! You pushed me backward!” the Doctor said when he could. “Who do you think you are? Merlin?”

“I thought it was you who was Merlin,” the voice said. “And your flippancy is wasted on me. I doubt you’ll have much left before very long.”

“So what’s next, then?” the Doctor wanted to know. “I’m ready when you are. Let’s get started. Alonz-ee!” He sat himself up again, and rubbed his hands together enthusiastically.

“As you wish, Doctor.”

Something struck the Doctor in the side of the face. His head snapped around, but before he could even register the injury a blow landed in his back.

And another in his left side.

And another on his right thigh.

And they kept coming. The Doctor tried to defend himself but could not; he was already overwhelmed. Unfortunately, it took some time before he was finally rendered unconscious.

 

Judging by the pain of his new injuries, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours. There was no way to tell if his tormentors were still present; he remained deaf and blind to the world around him.

Standing back up was out of the question. His right leg felt broken; at best, it was badly sprained. There was definitely a crack in his right arm, and a couple of his fingers had snapped. Whoever had attacked from his right side had been a lot more sadistic than his fellows. That, or a lot stronger.

The Doctor didn’t want to contemplate his ribs. Or his jaw. Those injuries wouldn’t necessarily immobilize him, but they hurt like living hell.

He’d suffered worse. That didn’t make him feel any better.

The mask, already tight, had stuck to the blood from his nose and mouth. It occurred to the Doctor that he should have suffocated, yet his breathing was ragged but regular. His left hand moved to the tube in his chest, and understanding dawned. Just to be sure, he put his thumb over the tube’s end.

“That is not a good idea, Doctor.”

“So you’ve told me,” he replied. His jaw ran with electrical currents of agony, and the words hissed between clenched teeth. He had not jumped in surprise at the sudden voice of his captor, and that was a small victory.

The Doctor felt suction on his gloved thumb, and his nest breath would not come. He released the tube and was able to breathe again. So that was what it was for. Mystery solved. Another victory.

And, his captor could hear him, in spite of the soundproofed material covering his face. That meant there was a microphone somewhere in the mask, and a transmitter. And a speaker somewhere in his ear, as well. That equipment could potentially be used to send a message out, summon help. It wasn’t much – he needed a lot more information to form a plan – but it was a start.

“You’ve worked out where your air comes from. Very good, Doctor. Full marks.”

“Wht abt fud?” the Doctor asked. “Wter?” He’d planned to add, “you clearly want me alive, so you’ll have to feed me.” He decided against it; speaking was just too painful.

“You’re the clever one,” the voice said. “You tell me.”

The Doctor didn’t respond, choosing to save his energy. The Doctor didn’t respond, choosing to save his energy. He was being watched, probably under constant surveillance. That would make it difficult to locate and extract the transmitter...

“No thoughts? A pity. The great Doctor, known for his superior intellect and his love of showing it off. Most disappointing.”

The Doctor spread his hands to his sides as if to say, what can you do? Then he put his hands behind his head; everything is good, and I’m having a splendid time. As long as he ignored his fractured right arm.

“I see,” said the voice. “Putting on a brave front, are we? And why shouldn’t you? I very much doubt you are afraid, at least not much. You’ve been captured and tortured before, once by your own people.”

That caught the Doctor’s interest. How did his captor know that? He was clearly dealing not only with someone with a massive grudge against him, but someone with intimate knowledge of his past as well.

And speaking of his past, his memory of events leading up to his current state were emerging. He’d just said goodbye... to everyone. Captain Jack, Mickey, Martha, his metacrisis clone, whom he’d left with...

Rose.

He’d had to say goodbye to Rose again. And leave her in the arms of another man. Even though that man was another him, grown out of his hand.

He’d lost her again. She would be happy, but he had to go on without her...

...and Donna. He’d had to wipe her mind clear of all traces of his existence. He’d had to destroy his best friend in order to save her life.

And then he’d been alone. Alone and vulnerable. And after that, things got foggy...

“Are you ignoring me, Doctor?” the voice boomed in his head, derailing his train of thought. “I will not stand for that. If I ask you a question, you will answer. Or there shall be consequences.”

Something hard and blunt struck the Doctor’s hand, breaking even more fingers. He yelped in surprise and pain, then clapped his good hand over his jaw.

“The next blow will be even more painful,” the voice told him. “Now, why are you refusing to speak?”

“Because my bloody jaw is broken!” the Doctor forced out, his eyes and teeth clenched in agony. He could handle pain. But he didn’t like it. Not at all.

“I see,” the voice said. “That is going to make our conversations difficult for you, isn’t it?”

“Yss...” the Doctor hissed.

“You are learning,” the voice contained no small amount of triumph. “I ask, and you obey. That will make things much easier, and deserves a reward.”

Oh joy, the Doctor thought, and he prepared himself for another blow. He didn’t think his captor was actually going to reward him with anything nice.

No blows came. Instead, a sudden drowsiness came over him. Gas, the Doctor realized, and then his consciousness left him.

 

The Doctor awoke feeling different. Better. The pain from all his fractures had been reduced to a dull ache, and he could feel a coating of some kind on his fingers, arms, legs, ribs and jaw. He tested his mouth; it was very sore, but he could move it without agony.

He could talk again. And there was no time like the present.

“Weeeeell, that was a lovely nap. Just what I needed. What the Doctor ordered, you might say! And I did.”

As he talked, he thought furiously. They’d put him under with a sleeping gas, but to treat his wounds they would have had to remove the suit he was in. Possibly they’d taken him somewhere, patched him up, dressed him in the suit again and put him back in... wherever he was now. No huge revelations there, but it was more information than he’d had before.

“Let’s see how I’m doing,” he went on, and he raised himself to a sitting position. “There, that’s good. Wonderful, even! Lovely med facilities you have on this starship. Top marks.”

“I’m starting to think you were more tolerable when you were reluctant to speak,” the voice said.

“Yes, but I could barely answer your questions then. What can you do? Half of one, half a dozen of the other. Or something.”

“I am glad you are feeling so... chipper,” said the voice. “It will be most enjoyable to strip you of those feelings. And interesting to see how many times you can return to such a happy state.”

“You’re starting to sound like a Cyberman,” the Doctor replied. “The old ones, anyway. Are you a Cyberman? I don’t think you are. The current lot wouldn’t bother with all this,” he gestured around him. “Mind you, they’re all in the Void now...”

“I am not going to tell you anything that I don’t wish for you to know,” the voice said. “I think the time has come, however, to give you some terms with which to address me.”

“Terms? What’s that all about, eh? Tell me your name!” the Doctor said. “You can’t gloat properly if I don’t know who you are.”

“From this moment on,” the voice continued as if the Doctor hadn’t spoken, “whenever you address me, you will begin with the words, please sir.”

“I will not!” the Doctor replied. Then he ducked, turned and folded his arms across his chest as he stood. The blow was coming, of that he was certain. Where would it come from? If he could only predict...

“You will,” the voice told him with calm certainty. “I provided nourishment for your body at the same time I was healing you. Further nourishment, you must ask for. And you will not receive it unless you begin your request with the words, please sir.”

“And if I don’t?” the Doctor asked. “You’ll let me starve? Can’t have your fun with me if I’m...”

The fist that hit his stomach had been augmented somehow. Brass knuckles or some equivalent. With raised bumps. The punch knocked the breath from his lungs, and the pain dropped him to his knees.

“Please, sir, and if I don’t,” the voice corrected him. “Please, sir, will you let me starve. Please, sir, you can’t have your fun with me if I am dead.”

The Doctor sucked in air and clutched his stomach. His assailant had been ready for him, and was no doubt still close by.

“Are you a British private school teacher?” the Doctor asked, and again he tried to anticipate his enemy. One arm guarded his stomach while the other blocked his face...

But not his kidneys. He cried out and fell to his knees again; this wasn’t going well for him at all.

“Please, sir, are you a British private school teacher,” the voice corrected, calm and condescending.

The Doctor gritted his teeth and considered his options. He could continue this cycle of pain, and perhaps he’d catch his assailant and perhaps he could overpower him. Would he gain anything? Not much. Brief satisfaction was the best he could hope for. He would still be trapped and at his enemy’s mercy. And it was likely his enemy employed more than one thug.

That was one option. The other, though distasteful, was the smart option: play along, let his captor humiliate him, and keep trying to find out what he needed to know to plan his escape.

“Please, sir,” the Doctor said, “call off that bastard that’s been hitting me.”

“Very good, Doctor,” the voice sounded nauseatingly pleased. “You’ll find it gets easier each time you say it.”

I’ll just bet, the Doctor thought, swallowing equal measures of anger and pride.

“Please, sir,” he said, “where am I?”

“You, Doctor,” the voice responded, “are exactly where I want you.”

“That’s not very helpful,” the Doctor muttered, and too late he realized his mistake. The blow caught him in the face and broke his nose.

“Please, sir, that’s not very helpful.”

The Doctor had fallen from the force of the blow; he lay on the floor, clutching his face.

“Please sir,” he said, his voice nasal, “ow.”

The voice laughed with genuine amusement. The Doctor ignored him and, steeling himself, forced his nose back into place with a wet crunch. Then he screamed. Blood poured down around the inside of his mask, soaking his mouth and chin. The pain was nasty but bearable, and reminded the Doctor of some less than pleasant academy days. Especially after his viewing of the Untempered Schizm, when the other boys learned that he’d run away...

A memory over nine hundred years old. Best left in the past.

“You still have some humour left in you. Good,” the voice said. “Try and hold on to it for as long as you can.”

“Please, sir...”

“You see? You’re getting the hang of it.”

“Please sir,” the Doctor repeated, “who are you?”

The voice was silent for a spell. Was he contemplating his answer, the Doctor wondered, or had he simply left? Speculation seemed pointless, but it was all he could currently do.

“Learning my name will teach you nothing,” the voice responded at last.

“Then please, sir, there’s no reason not to give it to me.”

“Except that you wish it,” the voice said. “Anything I give you is a boon that must be earned.”

“Please, sir,” the Doctor said, his fists clenched, “what must I do to earn it?”

“I will give you this much for free,” the voice told him. “We have never met, Doctor. Nor, I suspect, will we ever meet, at least not closer than we are now. When you meet my father, however, you will give him a new name.

“That name,” the voice said, “is Runaway.”

Continued in Part 2: Runaway's Bastard

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Bane of the Doctor is a multi-part saga that takes place in and around the world of Doctor Who. Specifically, before The Time Of The Doctor, The End of Time, and the 1996 TV movie. And some of it takes place after the 1996 TV movie as well. It's all over the place, really. This first chapter takes place somewhere between Planet of the Dead and The Waters of Mars.


End file.
